Private Practice
by Vintagepop
Summary: After the war Thomas and Dr Clarkson run a quiet country practice. However their tranquility is shattered when Thomas recieves an unexpected patient- his ex lover, the Duke of Crowborough.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi fanfiction patrons! This just popped into my head. Review my madness if you dare! Warning: Some bad language. Don't read if you have delicate ears…eyes?**

Although no longer a footman but a country doctor, Thomas still dressed impeccably. So although he had been sent for by the local lord at four o'clock in the morning, his clothes were neat and not a hair was out of place as he used the grand knocker at the front entrance of the manor to announce his own arrival. He thought with pride that he would have once had to use the servants' entrance as the door was opened by a footman, dressed as he once would have been. Thomas exuded a brisk exterior of calm as he was shown up the stairs by Lord Whitby, who was describing the symptoms a distinguished guest of his was showing. Thomas had been to war after all he could cope with the sniffles. In fact, Thomas was relatively sure he could cope with anything hiding behind the door to his patient's bedroom.

He realised after opening the door, that he was dead wrong. There half smothered under a mound of luxurious covers, unmistakable despite his pallor, was Thomas's former lover, the Duke of Crowborough.

Thomas stopped and stared for just a moment before recovering his professionalism and arranging his medical kit on the table. He caught the Duke's eye briefly, and despite being ill the infuriating man managed to smirk. Thomas had been hoping James had forgotten him, which he felt would have been slightly less awkward for the both of him, but he apparently remembered. Lord Whitby left the room to give his guest some privacy while he was examined and Thomas silently cursed him. He just hoped the Duke didn't want to chat.

"Well, it seems you rose higher than valet," the Duke commented condescendingly.

"Yes, I got what I wanted," Thomas answered acidly. "What about you? Find yourself an unfortunate heiress rich enough to wed?"

The Duke chuckled. "Yes, I achieved my ambition. But I'd like to think she's not that unfortunate, she got a title out of it, after all".

Thomas was tired of this. He really didn't care he just wanted to get on with it. Picking up a stethoscope he said coolly, "I'm going to listen to your heart to see if there's any fluid around your lungs. Could you unbutton your shirt a little?"

The Duke arched an eye brow and began to unbutton his night shirt. "Any excuse for getting me out of my clothes," he said suggestively.

He really wasn't going to make this easy, Thomas reflected as he tried to retain a calm exterior while overwhelmed with an urge to slap this pompous git. Pushing personal issues aside, Thomas listened for a few moments before his suspicions were confirmed. "You have pneumonia," he told James, calmly. "It's not a serious case and I imagine you'll recover if you stay warm and keep in bed for a few weeks".

"So you're prescribing bed rest?" The Duke asked archly, running his hand up Thomas's arm. Thomas jumped back as though stung by a wasp.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed, his veneer of calm collapsing.

"Oh, come on Thomas. I know I hurt you before, but that was a long time ago and you knew I couldn't risk my reputation. I had to get married, after all. Once more for old times' sake, we never got to say good bye properly".

Thomas felt a wave of revulsion rush over him at the idea of ever being intimate with the man in front of him again. He clearly didn't understand what he'd put Thomas through after burning his letters. However he didn't particularly want to enlighten the Duke on that score, so instead he said "No for two reasons. Firstly, you're my patient…"

James snorted. "It's not as though you've never bent the rules before, Thomas" he countered.

"Secondly," Thomas continued, as though he hadn't been interrupted. "I'm in another relationship and we've promised to be faithful to one another".

James looked incredulous. "Are you trying to tell me that you've gotten _married _Thomas?" he exclaimed.

Thomas shifted uncomfortably; he wasn't used to talking about his relationship in public. "No," he answered. "I'm with Dr Clarkson".

For a moment, the Duke was dumbstruck. Then he unaccountably began to laugh. "Dr Clarkson?" he asked through a fit of laughter mingled with coughing. "Well, I knew you had daddy issues Thomas, but that's just ridiculous!"

Thomas was taken off guard. "What do you mean?" he asked, realising a moment later that he should have kept his mouth shut.

"He's ancient," the Duke said unkindly. "Were there truly no other lonely men in the army?"

For once, Thomas had no cutting comeback on his lips. He went on autopilot and held up an infusion of herbs. "Take two spoonfuls of this once a day mixed in a mug of hot water," he said without expression. "I'll be back tomorrow after seeing a pharmacist about some medication".

Thomas packed up his things before leaving without bothering to say goodbye. He marched smartly out of the house before stopping just inside the entrance to gather his thoughts. What on earth had just happened?

Dr Clarkson came home to a rather unusual site. A worried looking Thomas paced the floor, muttering to himself. The last time John had seen him like this he'd been about to meet the only one of John's sons who'd managed to survive the war and he was scared he wouldn't like him. But this was different, worse than nervousness. His partner looked genuinely distressed.

John Clarkson put down his briefcase, before giving Thomas a hug. Thomas looked almost surprised by his presence before returning the hug, which worried John even more. "What happened?" he asked concernedly.

Thomas hesitated and looked down before speaking. "Do you remember me telling you about my first lover?" he asked, somewhat unexpectedly.

Dr Clarkson hesitated. "The Duke?" he queried, not sure where this was going.

"He's…"Thomas cleared his throat. "He's staying at Lord Whitby's and he has pneumonia and I have to treat him for it".

"I can understand how that could be…awkward," John stated, still not comprehending what the problem was.

"It's not just awkward!" Thomas exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "He's being such a tool!"

Dr Clarkson's ears pricked up at that. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well he's very condescending and…"Thomas hesitated again. "Well, he sort of came on to me".

"What?" Dr Clarkson was the first to admit he was the jealous type, though he generally tried to hide it, as he was attempting to now.

"I told him I was with you of course," Thomas said, dismissively waving his hand as though the idea of accepting the offer hadn't even occurred to him. That made John feel a lot more secure. "Then he laughed and said I was with you because I had 'daddy issues'," Thomas grimaced as if the comment left a bad taste in his mouth.

Dr Clarkson was certainly mad that someone had caused his partner this amount of stress however he couldn't really see a way out of the situation. "Well, we can't refuse him treatment just because he's unpleasant," he pointed out reasonably. "I guess all you can do is make sure he gets better as quickly as possible so you don't have to spend any more time with him".

Thomas nodded despondently. Dr Clarkson tried to distract him the rest of the evening, but he could tell Thomas was still slightly unnerved by the encounter.


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas felt nowhere near as brisk or professional when approaching Whitby Manor the following morning. He was once again greeted by Lord Whitby, who inquired after his guest's health. Thomas gave him instructions as to his guests care, detailing when the herb infusion and the pills he'd prescribed were to be taken. Unfortunately, he also had to explain the taking of the pills to his patient and examine him to make sure he was no worse than he had been yesterday.

Thomas conducted the examination as hurriedly as possible and he considered himself lucky that James didn't appear to be in as chatty a mood today. While putting away his stethoscope, Thomas managed to push a pile of papers off the Duke's bedside table. Bending to pick them up, he discovered a stack of letters that had been tied up, but were now scattered on the floor. As he handled them, Thomas had a strange feeling that there was something familiar about them. Glancing at them, Thomas felt as though his heart had stopped. They were the letters Thomas had written to the Duke as an infatuated footman and it felt strange to be touching them again. But why were they here?

Thomas looked at James, bewildered. "These are my…" he began and for a moment he thought he discerned a look of panic of James's face. However it was soon replaced by his habitual smirk.

"So Thomas, do you moan like a bitch when Clarkson fucks you, or did you only do that for me?"

It was a wild stab in the dark, but it hit home. To think he'd done something so personal with someone like this. Thomas shut down once again.

"Take these twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening," he said gesturing to the packet of pills on the bedside day. Thomas then packed up his things and walked out of the manor in a kind of trance.

Dr Clarkson had expected Thomas to be almost back to normal today. He'd figured that his partner would have gotten over the shock of unexpectedly encountering an ex. He'd also thought that the Duke would behave himself from here on in, having already been rejected once. However upon seeing his partner, he knew he'd thought wrong. If anything, Thomas looked worse today.

"What did he do?" he asked immediately, upon entering.

"He…he has my letters," Thomas answered, looking confused.

It took Dr Clarkson a moment to realise what he was talking about. Then he realised Thomas must have been referring to the letters he'd once written the Duke. However he thought there must be something more to this, so he stayed standing, listening.

"I was going to ask him why," Thomas continued, "but then he interrupted me. He asked me…," Thomas swallowed, before continuing to speak. "He asked me if I moaned like a bitch when you fucked me, or if I'd just done that for him".

John Clarkson felt himself fill to the brim with rage, which he barely suppressed before speaking. "You're not going back there," he declared decidedly.

Thomas looked immediately relieved, yet slightly hesitant. "What about…"

"I'll treat him," John assured Thomas, though he was unable to hide the distaste he felt at this prospect. The Duke sounded like a truly awful man. "I know you've always looked after the Whitby's, but we'll tell them that you have a slight cold and that if the Duke were to catch it there's a risk of him catching double pneumonia, which it nearly always fatal. I'll tell that story to the Duke as well, that way you won't appear weak".

Thomas once again looked relieved. "Thank you," he said sheepishly, adding "what would I do without you?"

"Starve probably," Dr Clarkson answered. "It's your night to cook dinner, but you don't seem to have remembered to prepare any food".

Thomas once again looked sheepish, before heading to the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This brings us to the end of our story. Leave a review if you enjoyed it or have suggestions **

Dr Clarkson strolled up the sloping lawn to Whitby Manor, enjoying the view of the well kept grounds and the crunch of the raked gravel beneath his feet. He was soaking up the calmness of the natural world in preparation for what he felt sure would be an unpleasant interview.

When he reached the front entrance he was greeted cordially by Lord Whitby, who seemed surprised to see him in Thomas's stead. John calmly delivered the agreed upon lie and he could see Lord Whitby did not question it. Somehow he suspected his patient would be more shrewd. He was not disabused of this theory on his first meeting with the Duke.

"I suppose Thomas sent you," were the first words out of his grace's mouth.

"Thomas is ill with a slight cold," John answered stiffly, "if he infects you, you could develop double pneumonia, which would weaken your chance of survival".

"Indeed," the Duke said in a voice that suggested boredom.

"After your behaviour to Thomas, you should consider yourself lucky he still cares enough about your survival to take measures _against _your infection," Clarkson could not help saying as he proceeded to examine his unpleasant patient.

"Thomas never did answer my question yesterday," the Duke drawled. "I suppose he told you about it. That must be why you're here. I made him uncomfortable, I fear. But perhaps you can answer it for me?" the Duke spoke as if commenting on the weather at a dinner party.

Clarkson paused in his examination and looked the noble man in the eye. "You're recovering your health rapidly," he told him, "and I'm going to do my best to speed the process along. The sooner you're healthy, the sooner you'll no longer be my patient".

"And I thought we were having an amiable conversation," it seemed the Duke used sarcasm liberally when it suited him.

"I look forward to the day when you're no longer my patient," Dr Clarkson reiterated. With that he walked smartly out of the room, swinging his medical bag.

When Clarkson arrived to check up on his patient a week later, he was asked up into the tea room by one of Lord Whitby's daughter's. There he found Lord and Lady Whitby taking tea with the Duke who had regained colour, health and animation.

"You seem to have made a full recovery," Dr Clarkson commented pleasantly, accepting a cup of tea from a footman by the door.

"Indeed," his grace answered. "I feel quite as though I were never ill"

"I suppose this means you're no longer my patient," Clarkson observed.

The Duke gave a wry grin. "I suppose not," he said with his habitual smirk.

"I'm glad," John said, replacing his tea on the footman's tray. "For if you were, this would be rather unethical". With that, John stepped forward suddenly and threw a well aimed punch. He grunted with satisfaction as his swing connected with flesh and when he withdrew he was pleased to see the Duke on the floor with a bloody nose.

The shocked silence that followed was broken only by the shattering sound Lady Whitby's teacup made when hitting the ground. She had allowed it to slip through her fingers in shock. It appeared John's unexpected action had caused her to have an attack of the vapours. Lucky he was a doctor.

A few hours later Thomas was speaking to a constable at Whitby's only jail. "I'm terribly sorry about this," he apologised. "Since the war you see, he's had a few funny turns. It doesn't happen often, but occasionally he'll hear a sound or see a certain colour and think he's back on the lines. I'd be very grateful if you didn't press charges". Thomas felt a little guilty about using the effects of the war as a scapegoat for bad behaviour, as he knew they were all too real. But surely whatever good could come out of such a tragedy should be utilised?

The constable nodded understandingly. "My son came back from the trenches not quite whole," he said with tears in his eyes that pricked at Thomas's conscience. Without further question he released Dr Clarkson back into society.

As they walked back to the small cottage they shared, Thomas glared at John from the corner of his eye. He had his head down and his hands shoved into his pockets, a sign he was angry. "You don't have to go around defending my honour like I'm some virgin lass," he scolded.

"Admit it," John Clarkson said in an uncharacteristically cocky voice, "you're a little turned on".

Thomas continued walking as he had before, but John swore he could detect a slight blush. John grinned to himself. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.


End file.
